


Clark Griffin: The 100 in the Garden

by Ea4g



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Coming Out, Drama, F/F, Geek Love, Just Plain Awkward, LARPing, Science fiction is fantasy, Story within a Story, awkward dorks, kids having fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7014286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ea4g/pseuds/Ea4g
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark Griffin is a geek. None of the bitches at school had to tell her that, she always knew it. When the other girls wanted to giggle over magazines, she wanted to watch Star Trek. When the other girls played with make-up, she dressed up as Buffy in the middle of May. When the other girls wanted to gossip about boys, she wanted to write a new story in her journal. Now, Clark wants to make her latest story come alive and her friends and the new girl are happy to join in. But danger lurks out there when the geeks start acting happier than some think they have a right to, especially when their leader has a secret even she doesn't know yet.</p><p>(The one where Clark and friends LARP "The 100")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clark Griffin: The 100 in the Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RaeDMagdon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/gifts), [N1ghtWr1ter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtWr1ter/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Release](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6977428) by [N1ghtWr1ter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtWr1ter/pseuds/N1ghtWr1ter), [RaeDMagdon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon). 



> This story was inspired by two of the greatest writers I have ever known. Hence why I make this story as a gift to them. If you are unfamiliar with their work I insist you look them up ASAP.

Clarke Griffin, otaku extraordinaire, self-proclaimed story junkie, had been up since before dawn. She was a morning person, always had been, and as such had spent her time since around 5AM watching the best show ever made, the sunrise. The day looked to be off to a good start. An excellent night's sleep, followed by a partly cloudy morning causing a truly beautiful sight. The rays of the dawn gilded the clouds and lit them red and rosy pink. The clouds would get heavier as the day went on, making for a wonderfully shady day. But for now, the morning light spilled through the bay window in the far wall, illuminating everything in Clarke's small bedroom.

It was a scene she would never get tired of watching, even though she had done so nearly every morning she could remember for seventeen years. But the day waits for no girl and it was already 6:15. So now she looked down at her bed where she had laid out three choices of costume for the day. Everyone she knew, even her friends, still didn't get why she thought of outfits regular people wore to school every day as costumes, but that was just Clarke's way. She didn't know why, but they just never felt like anything else to her. It always felt the same as when she was six playing dress up with Mom's trench coat and the stove pipe hat from the closet.

Clarke reached for the first costume on the right edge of the twin sized bed. Turning towards the standing mirror against the left wall of the room, she held it against herself and almost immediately threw it back. While the white button down blouse and navy skirt did look good and might earn her some reprieve from the grief that awaited her at school, Clarke remembered how much she hated skirts. She had ever since the fourth grade when Avery Adams had lifted hers up during the Halloween party in front of everyone. She blushed at the memory of how she'd covered herself with one hand and broke his nose with her other elbow. She never wanted to feel that exposed ever again.

Going back to the bed, Clarke looked down at the remaining choices, fingering the dragonfly design on the edge of her bra, one of her favorite things to do while thinking. Clarke had always been just fine with the way she looked, but she hated feeling exposed with anyone around. She never wanted anyone, even her own mother, to see her undressed. But when she was alone like this, in her bed at night or when Mom went out, Clarke would get her daily costume off and wear the closest thing to completely natural cloths she owned. These were some of her favorites. Her favorite shade of deep blue with the nearly perfect design she'd done herself. The bra was soft and comfortable and made her feel like she was constantly being hugged without it feeling pervy. The underwear were hip huggers, had the same dragonfly design as the bra and felt just as nice against her.

Clarke reached for the second costume and considered it much more seriously. That was certainly more like it. A green, tree print t-shirt and brown pants that tripled as lounge, track (for gym today), and sweat pants. Happy with the choice, she pulled it on with only a little regret at the loss of self-intimacy. She looked herself squarely in the reflected eye as she reached for her glasses case sitting on the edge of her desk.

"You are Clarke Griffin" she said firmly. "Anyone who wants to get to your friends, they have to go through you. You won't let anything get to them or you. That's who we are, even in this ridiculous get-up."

She grinned at her truly awful joke, a grin which softened as she surveyed her room. The pale on pale color scheme was something she had chosen herself. When the nursery wallpaper had come down when she was seven, Mom had given her free reign to redesign the place as she saw fit. So, loving the way the old white and pales pink had worked with the sunlight, Clarke did everything up again with an eye to maximizing the light. All the walls, ceiling and furniture, were painted white and subtly accented with gold where it wasn't. Even the bed spread and pillowcases were done in the same design; a white comforter done up by Clarke herself with all manner of gold thread designs. Birds and dragonflies extending across the length and width while gold sunburst designs covered both of the pillows. The bay window in the far wall had been set up with cushions as comfortable as any couch. The floor was hard wood and unpainted, but the center was covered by a circular braided green rug.

The half of the room not taken up by the bed had only three pieces of furniture, the mirror and the desk on the left side, the desk in corner had her laptop and a built-in shelf above filled with leather bound journals. The right side was dominated by a truly enormous floor to ceiling set of bookshelves. The books themselves had grown far too numerous over the years to fit spine to spine against each other, and now were stacked in piles five books high, each book touching end to end with the pile next to it. Getting anything she wanted to read free was a nightmare, but well worth it when she got down to the business of reading. Or, more often than not, rereading.

The shelf itself drew the eye as the books were the most diversely colored things in the room, but the real secret was behind the case. If a latch on the right side was pulled, the case would open and a hidden room would appear. Her den, as she called it, was done up like many people would describe a "man cave". A sofa against one wall, a television against the other, a smallish multicolored rug on the floor, a small table next to the sofa with a bright lamp and unpainted wood walls. It was more than a little cramped when Clarke closed the shelf behind her, but she always though it was cozy when there was a good show or movie on or there it was too dark to read by the bay window. True there was also a lamp on her bed side table along with her electric clock, but Clarke simply enjoyed reading in the den more than her bed. Honestly, she would sleep in there if it weren't for the fact that the space required her to sleep curled up and that always made her unbearably stiff.

So went the morning reflections of Clarke Griffin as she pushed her laptop into her black backpack and pulled a particular journal off of the shelf; this one with a tree design on the cover both roots and branches spreading out. She pulled the pack onto her shoulder as she yanked the door open and dashed down stairs, the smell of breakfast filling her nose. As usual, Clarke found the source of the breakfast smell after tearing down the stairs and through the house like a madwoman after it, knocking over the dolphin headed cane leaning against the doorframe just as she did every morning. There it would lie in wait and trip her coming back in just as it did every afternoon. The source of the smell was the large plate at the end of the kitchen table filled with breakfast foods such as strips of bacon, scrambled eggs and toast. Immediately, Clarke pulled the chair out from the table, plopped her ass in it and got down to the serious business of eating.

The source of her breakfast's near magical apparition on the table came in shortly thereafter. Abigail “Abby” Griffin strode quickly into the room, already dressed in her blue medical scrubs with white shoes and her hair pulled back from her face in a ponytail. Looking not a day over 35, she carried her own breakfast and lunch in a brown paper bag and she walked, practically marched, towards her daughter. She laid her one free arm around Clarke and kissed the side of her head.

"Good morning, Honey."

"Good morning, Mom," Clarke replied with her mouth half full.

"Do you need a ride to school?" Abby asked as Clarke rolled her eyes. Her mother asked nearly the same question every morning and was never really able to help if the answer was no. As the head nurse at the only real clinic in Arkadia, her day started long before Clarke's and ended long after she was sound asleep. Clarke could never fathom how she did it and did whatever she could to keep her mom from worrying over her and to lighten her load whenever possible.

"No Mom, I'm good," Clarke called back, this time without the food in her mouth. "Finn's going to give me a ride, just like he does every day Octavia has practice."

"Alright Sweetie, have a good day," Abby said, already mostly out the door.

Clarke smiled and turned back to her food. "You too, Mom."

Within fifteen minutes Abby's Jeep Wrangler had pulled out of the garage, Clarke's plate had been licked cleaned and Finn's rebuilt Motorcycle had pulled up to the edge of the drive way. Clarke grabbed her things and protective jacket. She and Finn made polite "good morning" noises at each other, saving their proper conversation faculties for when they could use them. Clarke pulled the spare helmet on and got on behind Finn, holding on tight and he took off.

As he drove, Clarke tried to distract herself from Finn's reckless yet impeccable driving. Luckily, or unluckily depending, this wasn't difficult as she had a conundrum she'd been beating her head against for the past three days. The problem was the leather journal, filled with the latest of her projects. For the past few years, Clarke had turned the stories in her head into fully developed worlds, each one realized in one of the journals that lined the shelf above her desk. The works practically flowed from her pen once she got an idea into her head, its design, characters, and the events that made up the story she told coming to her as easy as breathing.

Until now that was, and Clarke just didn't get it. This was what she did. This was her thing. How could this be so hard? The world was coming to her easily enough, the characters and story too, but it was a weird one. She almost never directly used anyone she actually knew in a story, but almost everyone she knew was in this one. Not just characters based on them but actually them, or them as she saw them anyway. Even she was it in too, something Clarke disliked on principle. Depicting herself as the direct hero of any story felt too much like douche level arrogance. Still, what really bothered her was that there was just a major piece of it missing that Clarke, with all her practice and sources to draw on, just couldn't figure out. And it was driving her crazy.

***

There was exactly one place in Arkadia High that Clarke could get any "real" work done, and that was the library. The best places to think for Clarke were ones filled with books. And were exactly three places outside of her bedroom where you could find more books. The Barnes and Noble book store where she had worked every summer since she was twelve, the antiques shop on the edge of South St., and the school library she currently occupied. Clarke sat at one of the tables on the central floor, her journal in front of her and open to a blank page where she absentmindedly sketched out a heavily forested backdrop, gazing at the books around her and occasionally up at the vaulted glass ceiling.

The library itself was more than a little odd-looking to be a library, but there was a good reason. About seven years ago, a water main under the school had gone critical and the whole place had been flooded, totally wiping out everything. It took a full year for it to recover, but not everything was the same. Most of the rooms had been redone, but some had to be altered to fit with new design. In the end the three biggest rooms had been totally rearranged. The gym became the cafeteria, the cafeteria was now the library, and the library became the new gym. As this was the case, the library was made up of seven layers and a ground floor which was part of the basement. The others were a long series of cement ramps with a cheaply painted red railing running around the walls up to the aforementioned glass ceiling.

Clarke blessed the scheduling mishap that had given her two spare periods right next to each other, and that locker 319 was set right across from the library door. It couldn't have been a more perfect set up, as far as Clarke was concerned. The only thing that was spoiling her mood was this damn story. She'd been sitting there for the past half hour and hadn't managed to get a single inkling as to what was missing. Everything was set up and ready to go. The world and its backstory were beyond prepared, the characters were fully fleshed out, though it was more than a little odd that most of the characters were also her friends and family. She'd even thrown in Coach Anya and her Mom. She knew where the story would begin and where it was going, so what was the _...who...who..._

A girl had just come in, and wow. She was the sort who stood out but only to someone who was accustom to seeing more than the obvious. Her skin was dark like maple syrup except for her lips which were light pink...and full...and soft-looking. She had wavy dark brown hair that hung around her face, almost shielding it completely from view, almost. She had a high forehead, celestial nose, and the prettiest grey eyes. She wore a plaid blue and dark green shirt and blue jeans which were loose around her legs and waist.

The thing that really stood out, apart from her obvious good looks, were the glasses. They were large and heavily framed, the typical "nerd" glasses. Clarke had her own pair she used quite liberally when she thought she needed them, but these were sort of silly looking. But somehow the black frames just sort of seemed right for her, fitting perfectly around her eyes. 

She was above average height, taller than Clarke anyway, but she walked slouched and with her head bent, almost like she was hiding from everyone. Why anyone that pretty would want to hide was beyond Clarke. Those eyes with her skin and hair, she was so very beautiful. And the subtle curves under her clothes...

Clarke ruthlessly stomped on that thought before it got any further. This was becoming more than a little silly. She wasn't gay or a perv and she wasn't about to invade this girl’s privacy any further, especially when she already looked more than a little scared and shy. Maybe there would be a chance to properly meet her later, but right now it was high time she got back to her work and...What the Hell?!

Clarke looked down at the page she had been drawing on and froze in shock at what she saw. While she'd been staring, she'd drawn the new girl. But it wasn't her, not really. This version was dressed in almost skin tight leather armor with a blade at her hip, wearing her hair pulled back in thick braids, and instead of glasses had what looked like war paint across both her eyes and around her face.

Alright, this had officially gone past silly and into the realm of utterly ridiculous. She'd just drawn a fantasy-esque picture that was bordering on perverted...of someone she didn't even know...who was also a girl! She decided there was nothing for it but to go over to the new girls table and introduce herself, no matter how awkward it would be.

So Clarke got up, put her journal back in her bag which she pulled over her shoulder, and fixed her courage properly in place. Not that she properly understood why just getting up to talk to someone would make her nervous, any more than she understood why any of this was happening in the first place. Still, in no time at all, Clarke was standing next to the girls table, looking down at those think locks.

"Hi" said Clarke, smiling down at her. The girl looked up quickly, started away from the book she'd been buried in.

"H-hi" came the stuttered reply. The poor girl had clearly not been expecting the disturbance. Clarke could sympathize. She was totally oblivious to everything around her when she was reading. Interruptions were not only extremely unwelcome but also very jarring when she was buried particularly deep in a story.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Clarke said quickly. "Can I sit?" she asked, indicating the chair directly across from the girl.

There was no verbal reply. The girl just reached out her hand while she ducked her head and pushed her glasses up her nose. Clarke melted as she took her chance and sat. It was almost funny and beyond cute that such beauty as this could be anything other than totally commanding.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and say your new here?" Clarke said, smile firmly under control and absolutely not displaying the look typically given to a lover or a puppy.

A brief pause followed. "Is it that obvious?" she said, still quieter than was to be expected.

"It's a small town. Newcomers get noticed pretty fast around here"

"I know" she said, and this time there was a hardness in her grey eyes, which went through Clarke like boiling water through snow. Now _that_ was hot. "Look if you're going to give me the 'you are beneath me' speech, you don't have to worry. Two of your friend already gave me that so..."

"Whoa whoa whoa," Clarke interrupted thoroughly confused. "What friends? What are you talking about?" While she did have several people she thought of as her friends, none of them would ever say anything like that. None who didn't want to be beaten to death with their own severed limbs anyway.

The girl blinked confusedly. "The brunet in the red sweater and the blond girl who looks a little like a rat." She clapped her hand over her mouth at that last remark but Clarke just started laughing. The combination of a comment she herself often made and the look of steadily deepening embarrassment on her new friend's face bringing her to near hysterics and tears to her eyes.

"Alie and Fawn," Clarke explained, once she'd stopped laughing. "They like to think of themselves as the queens around here. Don't worry no one really listens to them."

An actual smile was on her face after she'd lowered her hand. "So this isn't a bad TV movie. Good to know." The joke was so unexpected, and accurate, it started Clarke laughing again. This time she was the one to cover her mouth, and not just to stifle the noise.

"I think it's about time I introduced myself." Clarke said, a giggle still in her voice. "I'm Clarke."

"Alexis" She said, and Clarke frowned at the name and the look on her new friend's face.

"You don't sound very happy about that. It's a nice name." That was only partly a lie. Alexis was a fine name as far as Clarke was concerned, but it just didn't really suit this girl in particular.

"It's not my first choice for a name. I don't really feel like an 'Alexis' or a 'Lexi'." She'd be blushing if her skin were any lighter and Clarke might have sworn there was some color in her cheeks.

"Yah, I can kind of see that." Clarke said as sympathetically has she could. Alexis seemed to take it well enough, though she still looked bashful on the subject. How bad must that be to hate your own name that much? Must be what guy's called Lesley feel like. "Still, it's not completely hopeless. I'm guessing you don't like Alex either?"

She shook her head no. That didn't really fit either, Clarke had to agree, but it was closer. Maybe there was something along those lines.

"Hey" Clarke said, struck by an idea. "How about Lexa?"

Alexis perked up a little at the idea, seriously thinking about it. She smiled and nodded, and her pleasure was evident. Hey, who wouldn't like to have a name they didn't hate after over a decade of one they did.

"Alright, Lexa it is." Clarke smiled back, warmed to the tips of her toes. She moved her chair to the side of the table closer to Lexa so she could see what was properly in front of her. "So, what were your reading?"

**Author's Note:**

> I in no way own or am affiliated with The 100. This is purely a product of my own imagination and complete lack of a life.


End file.
